UP AND DOWN THE TOWN OF SIENA

SIENA: JEWEL OF TUSCANY

Siena – (Copyright – Massimo Catarinlla)

Some years ago my partner Rob and I hired a car and toured the Italian province of Tuscany. One evening we checked into a charming little hotel tucked behind the Campo within beautiful Siena’s medieval walls.

Medieval tower, Siena

However, there was a small problem. ‘Where can I park la macchina?’ Rob asked at reception, turning an imaginary wheel (private vehicles are banned from Siena’s steep, narrow streets).

Our landlady smiled. ‘Don’t worry’ she said, and explained that we could park outside the walls at the Stadium for a reasonable fee. Five minutes later we were edging our little Fiat through the city gates. However, on our way down the hill we found a closer car park. Even better, there was no pay station, so we could save a few quid….well euros.

Rob and I had a lovely evening in Siena. We gazed in awe at the wonderful marble pavements in the cathedral and made ourselves slightly sick on wickedly rich panforte.

Panforte, a delicious specialty of Siena. (Wikipedia)

Next morning we caught the commuter bus down to the carpark and were shocked to discover a ‘timed entry’ ticket under the Fiat’s wipers. Nobody else had one, so we were tempted to discreetly drop ours and drive off, especially as we had no idea how much we owed or where to pay. Only visions of being detained at the border forced us to enquire at a cafe across the road .

HELP AT HAND

With typical Italian generosity, everyone tried to assist. ‘Oh yes, you pay up in the city’, they gestured with sympathetic smiles. Arguments broke out about how best we could get there and two old fellows busied themselves drawing maps. Before they could finish another man arrived and offered to run us up the hill in his delivery truck. It was a tiny two-seater, so his wife stayed behind while the three of us squeezed in among the fruit and vegetables. Half an hour later we were still criss-crossing the hillside; dropping off cabbages in cobbled lanes. Our kind driver was eager for conversation, but my Italian is so limited I could only reel off the names of places we were intending to visit – presuming we could escape from Siena. Rob was too distracted to utter a word. Finally the dear man presented us with two oranges and dropped us at a security car park. It was completely full and cars were lining up for spare spaces.

The attendant inserted our ticket into a time clock where to our great horror it registered a fee of nearly 50 euros. Rob paled visibly, but paid up and was handed a metal disk which he gazed at in confusion until the attendant produced a sign in English reading; INSERT TO OPEN GARAGE DOORS.

A TOKEN OF OUR FOOLISHNESS

Good heavens! The reason for our outrageous bill suddenly dawned on Rob and he tried to hand back the disc; “Er scuzi, scuzi… I did not parco my macchina up here, it’s outside the … it’s fuori the…Oh good grief, what’s the word for walls?‘ In his panic he abandoned all attempt at Italian; ‘My car is not parked in this building, OK? It’s in a really cheap place…outside the walls!‘ Of course it was hopeless. The attendant waved a Mercedes through to take the space we were supposedly vacating and impatiently gestured us up to the parking levels. In the end we did as we were told but simply left the building through a pedestrian exit. Behind us, the Mercedes driver was honking in fury at being unable to find a spare spot.

It was a long way back to the car but we ran all the way for fear of being slugged with another fee. As we drove off I noticed Rob still had the metal token clenched in his fist. ‘Why don’t you throw it away?’, I suggested gently, as Siena disappeared behind us; ‘It will only remind you of everything.‘ He gave me a withering look. ‘Like hell I will! We’re coming back one day and I’m using it to park in that bloody place for a week.‘ I only hope they don’t change their tokens in the meantime, it will break his heart.

That night he lay awake in a hill town further north, lamenting the loss of his 50 euros. ‘Never mind’, I told him. ‘I’ll bet that parking attendant is awake too, going quietly crazy over the phantom foreigners who vanished without leaving an empty space. We’ll probably become an urban myth!’

Footnote – We still have that wretched token somewhere.

UPDATE – A friend sent me a postcard from Siena the other day. Oh dear….so beautiful, but brought those parking memories back!

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5 Comments

I had to laugh at this. They’re probably still scatching their heads at the crazy foreigners! I thought I had a problem some years ago when I hired a car in Tasmania and they told me I could return it by leaving it at the airport. When I got there early in the morning I couldn’t find how to get in the paying car-park and drove round and round in a panic, imagining missing my plane. Eventually it was sorted out but by the time I got on a plane (after having more hassles with the weight of my luggage), I was a wreck!

Oh yes, Christine…. I remember a similar nightmare experience returning a rental car at Charles de Gaulle airport one night. We must have circled the damn place a dozen times without finding the place. Another time in Spain a local police officer actually escorted us to our hotel!